What stops them
by WoollyOne
Summary: Written for round 4 of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition A different outlook of the skirmish at Malfoy Manor


As the curse struck her again and again, she screamed, tears streaming down her face in fear of the evil woman standing above her. She knew that to divulge any information would lead to the downfall of the trio, and would eliminate any possible chance of their escape. It would mean that Voldemort would win, and the light would be extinguished. She held out for as long as she could, her mind ticking over, trying to find a way out of the terrible situation she had found herself in, all because of her blood, which was now dripping sickeningly against the polished wooden floor. She knew that her weakness would be their team's demise, the Dark Lord's most trusted knowing their secrets. As the dark witch hissed the curse she screamed, knowing that she couldn't hold out for much longer. As the feared dark witch demanded answers from the shaking teenager, she did the only thing she could do to stop the pain and give her friends a chance: she lied. As Bellatrix Lestrange stormed out to investigate her rushed lie, the only seemingly useful information she had given her, the young witch thought about her bleak situation. If Griphook didn't help them, then more pain would ensue, and, eventually, death would follow. That is, if Bellatrix would even let her die; if she would stop inflicting pain upon her for her own sadistic enjoyment. Bellatrix marched back into the room with Griphook in tow, the sword of Gryffindor hanging loosely by her side, and turned on the goblin, shoving the sword under his nose and demanding to know its authenticity. He scrutinised the blade for a few moments, the black-haired witch growing ever impatient. Griphook snuck a glance at the legendary, though now nearly broken, Hermione Granger lying on the dusty floor. She mouthed the word 'please' to the goblin, who then turned back to Bellatrix, murmuring a few words, then receiving a stinging blow to his face from the dark witch's knife. The silently sobbing young witch watched as her tormentor threw the sword to the ground in anger and then turned back to her, a malicious glint in her eye, the young witch knowing she had not been forgotten. Bellatrix strode towards her, nudging her face with her boot, before sneering that Greyback could have her. It was then that she noticed two of her friends crouching with wands behind the furniture on the other side of the room; when Ron burst out from behind the couch and drew his wand, yelling at Bellatrix to let her go. The pair began a duel against the occupants of Malfoy Manor, fighting fiercely until Hermione felt a sharp pain at the top of her head and felt herself being pulled up by her hair, her head being pulled back, and a knife being held painfully close to her throat. The distinctive voice of her captor rang out through the room, sending a threat to her friends, a threat of her life. The cold blade pressed even harder against her throat, beads of blood forming at the thin cut over her windpipe. She elicited a tiny squeak of fear and pain, much to Bellatrix's delight, nearly ready to admit defeat, more than ready to end the pain. Lucius Malfoy yanked his sleeve up from his arm, revealing his jet black Dark Mark on his forearm, and he pressed a single finger to it, the tattoo coming to life as they watched, Harry clutching his forehead in pain, his face contorting as he tried to remain in the room. She then heard the odd sound of twisting metal above her head and looked up to see Dobby the house elf unscrewing the chandelier that hung above the bedraggled pair. Bellatrix let out a cry of terror, dropping Hermione to take the weight of the chandelier on top of her weakened body. Ron ran to her, holding her body tenderly in his strong arms. He took her to Harry and Dobby, took Dobby's hand, and felt her windpipe being slowly crushed as they Disapparated. When they arrived, Hermione took a deep breath, inhaling the pungent, salty air. Ron set her down on the wet sand, but her knees buckled from the strain of taking her own bodyweight after such a traumatising ordeal. Ron picked her up again, tenderly holding her, shielding her from the bitter wind. She did not know where Harry was, or Dobby, but was happy to just be away from that hellish place. She opened her eyes, squinting in the sun that now blinded her after her time in the darkened room of Malfoy Manor. Once her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw Harry standing at the edge of the waves, cradling Dobby in his lap. He begged them for help, screaming their names, but she shook her head, knowing that there was no hope for their friend the house-elf, no matter how much he had helped them. A single tear rolled down her cheek, stinging as it seeped into the thin cut on her neck. Ron held her tighter, but no so tight as to hurt her. He knew her like that; knew how much pain she could take. Harry started sobbing uncontrollably; Dobby having saved his life more than once and he couldn't stand life without him. Bill and Fleur crested the hill, knowing that they had arrived. Fleur immediately went to Hermione's aid, helping her back to the house to clean her up. Fleur gently rubbed her back as they walked back to the house, tears now streaming down Hermione's face as the sheer realisation of what had happened in the last few hours hit her like a freight train. Dobby was gone, the Death Eaters had probably figured out that they were hunting Horcruxes, and all three of the trio had been broken, now shadows of their former selves. When they arrived at Hogwarts, they were the cute little first-years. At seventeen, they were the warriors fighting for the right to magic.

Weakness. The one thing that would try to stop them. The one thing that would never get in their way.


End file.
